The Pensieve
by JustDanny
Summary: Time goes on; memories stay with us. A few moments, a few drabbles, a few pictures of the lives of those who went unnoticed, of those who held with them the magic of this marvellous world.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this -truly sad, don't you think so?**

**Innocence (Draco)**

Once upon a time, he was a child, too. But it was so long ago.

Now… Now he's only a man, only the man he has to be. Now he's a killer, or he'd be, if only the damn wand stopped trembling in his hand, if only he could cut all the thoughts. _Come on, Draco, _he breathes. _Come on._

But the old man's there, right in front of him, and he tells him not to do it. _Don't, Draco. There's another way_. And he doesn't understand, he can't understand, old, stupid, damn crazy fool. Chances wasted away too long ago, they disappeared when his father was captured, when the Lord asked him to do this –_Come on, Draco_- and he couldn't say _no_. He lost his chance, and his childhood at the same time, when the magic was marked in his skin, skull and snake, and he screamed.

Nobody heard him.

So he closes his eyes, breathes. Deep, too deep, Draco; swallow all the air, until you cannot swallow more, until the guilt is buried, hidden away. And say it. Two words. Only two words. _Avada Kedavra_, and everything will be fine.

There will be no road back.

**Danny**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: everyone knows Harry Potter belongs to a certain JK -who, like everyone (also) knows, is none less than Sirius Black, disguised. **

**Fall (Sirius)**

He doesn't think. He doesn't think, because it's not within his nature, thinking and being all rational, because Sirius Black is only nerve and muscle and movement. Because he'd fucked it up, with the parents –sorry, Prongs-, and the kid needs him, right now. And he can't fail again.

And so he doesn't think; he acts. He shouts and distracts Bella –who is his cousin and laughs at him, at them, all the while cursing. He remembers having heard her scream, in Azkaban, when they were wall to wall, the nearest he stands his own blood, now. _Toujours pur, _toujours Black.

He laughs at her and ducks by centimeters a green bright lightening –you've seen it too, haven't you, James?-, but he's too slow, and the last thing he sees is red and white, and then black. And he falls, he falls deeper and deeper and, behind the veil, he keeps falling.

I'm sorry, Jimmy. I couldn't protect him.

**Danny**

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Notes:** Sorry about all the weird parts. I'm doing my best at translating the original (Instantes), but this is all I can do. Really. So, I'll appreciate every comment, even more if it helps improve The Pensieve.

(And thanks to Steph for reviewing. You know I love you, right??)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: uh, I stole Harry Potter and hid him, yes. And now I cannot find him!**

**Night (Viktor)**

He likes those nights above all, those quiet, silent nights. The nights there's not noise or parties or stupid cries and cheers, the nights when he can be himself, for once. Without fear, without being afraid of letting them see so much of him. Being a hero is perhaps too heavy for a child, he muses. Because he's a child, a big kid; he doesn't want to grow, but he grows anyway. And he smiles seductively because he has to, because that's what everybody expects, what everybody wants, in the end, from him.

Maybe that's why he likes her. Cause she's like those his nights, quiet and silent, and beautiful, in a way, and different. Because she doesn't expect anything from him, because she looked down on him when they walked across that first time, and she thinks of him as the kid he is, being eighteen, the kid the others won't let him be. He looks at her, the same way he looks at those starless nights, he looks at her and wonders: who are you? There's no answer.

He asks her to go to the ball with him with a bow, when they're alone. Hermione seems a bit puzzled, at first; then she smiles, and nods. And kisses him, slow and fast and wet, only a briefly touch, lips caressing lips, and it's over. And that's better than flying a broom, thinks Viktor, better than any french kiss, because it's a kids' touch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue.**

**Photograph (Colin)**

The world seems quite different behind a camera.

Colin likes doing photos. He loves capturing reality, freezing every look, every moment. It's magic, too, but not that magic with wands and curses. It's a different kind of magic, a magic you have to feel inside you, when you stare at each picture -a life holding its breath inside a paper.

He keeps a lot of pictures, in his room. They're not muggle pictures, not like the ones he had when he was a kid; now they're moving portraits, with Hogwart's old walls as a background; a magic landscape, he thinks.

He has lots of portraits of her, specifically. Of Ginny, his best friend, the only girl who doesn't think he's too short, too skinny, too childish. He likes looking at them, sometimes, seeing her smiling –she's got a beautiful smile- and waving. It helps him withstand a little better the blows of life, the Carrow's punishments; it's always good to know that, when he comes back, he'll always have a friend.


End file.
